The Between-Jobs Buzz: Better Put On Some Galoshes Because It’s Shit-Storming Outside.

A week ago, I received a phone call from the claims adjustor. She wanted to get some clarification on a few things. I was leery about what this clarification had to do with my case, but told her to let it rip. I mean, it couldn’t get any worse, right? HA! She was calling to ask me about a petition that I had signed demanding the immediate removal of ELD and that I had opened up one of ELD’s paychecks without her permission. … I just about wanted to die of shock when she asked me those things.

1. I answered the paycheck commentary first. I explained to her that before I took over the store, ELD had scheduled a trip to TX with her family. During the week or so that she was to be gone, she asked Some Other Employee to pick up her paycheck. She then asked SOE to open up the envelope and tell her how much was in there. SOE decided that this meant that she could tell everyone in the store how much ELD made. The only reason I found out, at any point, how much she made or that this had happened was because TPO wanted to know how it was possible that ELD made more than she did. So, of course, I found out how much ELD was making and the whole brouhaha about the thing. ELD later accused TPO of doing that, to which TPO hotly denied it (to her face). I, of course, knew that SOE had done the deed so nipped it in the bud.

I explained all of this to Claims Adjustor Woman.

2. I told her that about three weeks or so before I was fired, TPO had asked about writing a petition to The CO about removing ELD from our store. This was just prior to the mediation that I “wasn’t supposed” to allow. I told her that that was a bad idea and that The CO would probably laugh in her face. I also mentioned that ELD had put in for a transfer to a store closer to her house already, so we should sit back and wait. In reality, I knew that there would be no transfer (as did TPO), but I had to put the best face forward on a situation that I had little to no control over. BHOP wouldn’t remove ELD from the store to “create new problems” in other stores; it was unfair to the other stores. I agreed with her, but felt like I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I really tried to make things better for TPO but my hands were tied.

I told her that there was never a petition and that I never signed the damn thing. I told her that it was impossible for me to have signed something that didn’t exist.

I was disqualified from getting unemployment benefits.

“…were discharged for bullying a co-worker. Such discharge is due to deliberate misconduct in willful disregard of the employing unit’s interest and is subject to disqualification…” I got the letter telling me that today. There was also this little piece of paper that I had to fill out to ask for an appeal. I, of course, filled that out. It’s sitting in an envelope and ready to be mailed out tomorrow. I am, of course, super fucking pissed off.

I thought it was in the bag, honestly. There is no fucking evidence of any of these allegations–it’s a strict he-said/she-said. And as it was, I was never fired for bullying. I was fired for “allowing” bullying to happen in the store. This is why I wanted a written reason as to why they were “discharging” me. I knew they were going to change their minds after the fact and fucking lie about it. I can only imagine what sort of other false shit they’ve padded my personnel file with. And again, this is why I don’t dare even try to find a job because who the fuck knows what the hell they’ll tell any prospective future employers? I know they’re not “supposed to” say anything about my record, but these people are lying fucking assholes. They’ll do whatever the fuck they want, when they want.


Dear Diary: I Don’t Want To Be at the Mercy of My Emotions…

For anyone who actually knows me, I hate being overly emotional. I’ve always had a major issue connecting with my emotions. Honestly, I don’t know what stunted that growth. Considering all of the fucked up shit that has happened in my life, it could be any fucking thing. I know that I used to be able to connect with them on some level as a child, but as I grew up, it became harder and harder. I think a part of the stunted growth has to do with how my mother was with her emotions (unapproachable) and because I was always in so much pain, all of the time, that it stopped me from being able to feel anything else.

…For a really long time.

I mentioned that things were going “very well.” I always tend to understate the matter, but I’m never full of details until after I can sort everything out or once it’s over. I don’t know if I’ve sorted it out or this “well” portion of our tour is over. That’s another problem: I really hate the not knowing part.

After I wrote “It’s Not as Crazy as It Sounds”, TH and I started… I think we kind of linked back to how we were in the beginning. And to be absolutely clear here: we were insatiable fuck bunnies when we first got together. In our reminiscing, we’ve concluded that for a month straight, we had non-stop sex. Five, six times a day with little rests in between. It was like a fucking sex marathon with TV watching and eating thrown in at random intervals. It was kind of a fucking fun. Shit. Kind of? Yeah. That’s a disservice.

This doesn’t happen often. A while back, TH mentioned that it tends to happen with the changing of the seasons. And I, of course, denied this fact. I, in fact, may have used the wording “full of shit” when this came up. “May” is a strong word; yes, I fucking did. Anyway… I can’t help but notice that the leaves are changing outside… and the last time we did this was when spring was transitioning into summer… Okay. So. He’s right. I’ll just file that away for later exploitation.

I’ve been trying to deal with the emotional jet lag that tends to happen to most women when they fuckhave repeated sexual encounters with the Person Who Makes Things Better, I.E. a soul mate. It’s really fucking hard because I am not an emotional person. I am the exact opposite of emotional; the antonym of emotional; the antithesis of emotional. If you look any of this up, my picture will be unabashedly staring back at you. And you had better believe that my eyes will be as dead as a doll’s because me + emotions = fucking disaster. There tends to be crying with snots unsexilly running out of my nose and breaking things and just. It’s generally not a good fucking thing when I connect to my Inner Girly-Girl.

And since I’ve never really been able to correlate emotions and sex, I almost always fucking connect to my inner fucking girly-girl. And yeah, there’s crying.

So. This normally comes on the heels of The Big O. I guess that’s when most women connect to the emotions…? I guess. I don’t know. I hear tell that there are women who can have sex… and not get emotional. Me on the other hand? I carry on and blubber like a baby. Not, you know, always. Otherwise, that could be some weird ass shit. But, you know, sometimes, when it’s like… you know. Please don’t make me write this down. I’m embarrassed enough as it is. Ugh.

So, a few times, I’ve started crying afterward. This is brought about because of all of the ghosts that live in my head. And like a fucking moron, I start listening to them again after it’s all over. The most common catch phrases are “failure” “broken” “he’s lying” and “fractured.” I’m sure anyone can imagine the most awful contexts of any of those and place them appropriately. So, anyway. And like a fucking moron, I start blubbering about how sorry I am that he has to put up with all of my fucking bullshit. And it really is some bullshit, right there. (That’s for you, BFMA.)

And every time, he rushes to reassure me.

Honestly? He’s very good at that kind of a thing. He makes sure that I’m okay. He makes sure that it doesn’t hurt. He’ll stop even if he’s about to… uh, hrm, hum, hum. He takes care of me. He told me, during one of my previous break downs, that he wasn’t around because of the sex, but because of me. Talk about mush, right? Yep. I’m full of some mush.

And then I fuck it all up.

I think the problem becomes entirely based on emotions and how much I just can’t figure them out or handle it. I get a bunch of sad emotions all at once. And then, that leaves me open for all of the other emotions that come running up behind. Anger/angst; self-esteem issues/self-hatred. These are all things that I purposely ignore on a regular basis because, let’s face it, I can’t handle all of it. I don’t know how to handle any of it in a constructive way (anger = breaking shit; self-hatred = cutting), so stuffing them down is the best way. Right? Apparently not. Ignoring your emotions means that when one comes out to play, then they all come out to play. And I’m left in a fucking turmoil.

Okay, so last night, I was okay. Well, yesterday I was kind of sad and listless. I didn’t have, like, a reason but I was. And then, last night, TH made me feel better in a myriad of different ways. So, I went from sad to happy. Okay? And the two of us are just kind of vegging out and watching TV and I just get… angry. I don’t even know what started it… Oh. It was about how one of us should really go out and get milk for today, otherwise, there would be little to drink in this place come morning. And he said, “I’ll pick some up later.” And yes, folks, I got pissed off because he was going to buy milk tomorrow.

And like a fucking domino effect, it went into everything that I get upset about that I feel should be fixed. And doesn’t get fixed. DOMINO. EFFECT. I went on ranting (in my head because I don’t say any of this out loud, ever, even if he asks because he has to pull it out of me like he’s pulling teeth) about how he doesn’t help out around the house, or how inconsiderate he is in comparison to how considerate I was of him when he was not working, and then. And then. And then. Yeah, the picture has been drawn. So, instead of continuing to veg out, I went storming off to my room to go to bed.

And, that didn’t fucking work because I was up, being angry and upset, until one o’clock. (And I went storming into the room at like ten or something.) So, I’m angry and upset in our room and then, shit just kept on rolling down hill. I started [internally ranting] about how I always go to bed alone and he never cuddles before bed with me unless we’re on the couch. And then, that got me on about how he doesn’t sleep in our room anymore. At all. And this angry spiral went right into…? YOU GUESSED IT. The “I’m a fucking miserable fuck up screw up shit stain failure” spiral. I mean, at that moment in time, it was pretty obvious why he didn’t sleep in our room: he really didn’t want to deal with my bullshit.

And that’s all it is: bullshit.

And this is why, ladies and gents, I do not make contact with my emotions. I don’t know how to handle them. I don’t know how to handle the overload. I don’t know how to release them in a constructive manner. I just explode in my head and then internalize it some more. I’m under the impression that this could lead to a heart attack or something. And honestly? That’s funny because I’m usually the one advocating about “talking it out” and “getting things off your chest.” Talk about a hypocrite, eh?

Of course, I have to be completely honest with myself: I don’t really like who I become when I’m this emotionless automaton. Yeah, yeah. It’s great: no crying and a tough-as-nails exterior and things just bounce off of me. But, it’s really not great. I don’t like who I am then. I’m such a fucking bitch. I’m bitingly sarcastic and mean, for no reason. Or, I think there’s a reason but it doesn’t warrant how completely fucking mean I can be. (I can make lumber jacks cry, folks. I’m a mean SOB.) I am an ice cold ice-queen. That is what I become when I just shove it right on deep down. And there’s no sex. And there’s no connection. And I only have fleeting pieces of “this is it; this is one” when I should really have those thoughts more than “fleetingly.”

I don’t really know how to fix this, you know? I could try and tell TH all of this stuff, but I fuck it up when I try. I mean, I get tongue tied and since I’m a word-o-holic that shit just don’t fly. So, then I get pissed off that I’m fucking this whole thing up when I had specifically choreographed how. it. should. go. for. fuck’s. sake over and over and over again until it was “just right.” And then I take it out on him because, I’m perfect you know and I have to lash out like some dumbass. I could write him a letter because sometimes that works, but that pisses me off too. He reads it and then tosses it aside like it didn’t matter. And that gets my goat like nothing else. (The whole something I did not mattering, which is really me not mattering.)

And what makes this all the most fucked up of fucked up is that I feel like he should just know. I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain myself to him; how I work and think. I feel like he should just know that I am hurting and I am upset and I am angsty and I am out of sorts. I feel like he should know what I’m trying to convey when I fuck up our “meaningful” conversations. And then, since he doesn’t know, I get really mad and expect him to crawl on nails to fix it. Because I’m… intolerable and completely fucking retarded and uncomprehending of how anything works in the real world, apparently.


TA always told me that I would always self-sabotage my relationships. And that’s always stuck with me. I think that’s partly why I held out so long with MEH. I wanted to prove to her that I could do this. And that I could make something work properly. But, you know, she’s right. She’s absolutely right. I sabotage everything. And it’s a real wonder that I’ve found someone who is willingly able to put up with this fucking horse shit for four years now. (FUCKING FOUR YEARS? GEEEEEZ.) It’s not a wonder; it’s a fucking miracle. A mother fucking miracle. And I bet you, I bet you… I’m fucking it up with my fucked up bullshit.

And I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to stop myself from being this stupid idiot and I don’t know how to explain all of this to him. And I don’t want to do this by myself. And I don’t want pity. And I don’t want commiseration. I want some to take a boot to my face and fuck me up beyond repair. Maybe then, it would sink in.

Although. I doubt it.

Dear Diary: It’s Not As Crazy As It Sounds.

As you can tell from the title, I don’t know where to begin with all of this shit. And I would definitely like to mention, completely and fully, that “being confused” about this is ridiculous. For the last two nights before I’ve fallen asleep, I’ve written fucking fantastic opening paragraphs to this shit. Then, it actually comes time to do it and I’m lolling around with my tongue hanging out, scratching my head like a dumb ass. This is what I get for not having a pad of paper and pens attached at the wrist. Well… that would be cumbersome. So, I should have a digital recorder attached to my wrist at all times.

I guess this has to start back a bit, which sucks monkey butt: I hate back story.

When I was fresh out of high school, I started doing Tarot readings. I don’t even remember what my first deck was or how I came by it, either. I was into “occult” stuff (because who isn’t when they’re a depressed teenager in high school? hello? duh?) and I figured that was better than, you know, reading the Satanic Bible or sacrificing goats. My mom happened to notice this and encouraged me–odd since encouragement isn’t her forte. I kind of consider how adept I became and how quickly because of my mother: I think of it as a genetic ability. She used to use Tarot cards back in her “wild child” days. I don’t know how often or how good she was, but it’s always just been there. I fell out of practice when I met My Ex-Husband (MEH).

And picked it back up again after he and I had moved to TX. Now. It didn’t take me very long to get back into the swing of things. MEH was a lip-service Christian, although he would tell anyone otherwise. He was interested in Taoism and the teachings held there. He never went to church, even on holidays. He just quantified himself as Christian because it was all that he knew. It’s how he was raised. I mean, they did things like warfare prayer (which, I guess is kind of like super-praying with more intent?) and lived at the church. After his family broke up, he stopped going to church, but he always designated himself as “Christian.”

…And he hated my Tarot cards.

I don’t know why. It’s not like I was a psychic. I never got things from them like, “THERE WILL BE AN EARTHQUAKE IN LA IN FOUR MONTHS THAT WILL KILL THOUSANDS” and then run to the nearest nut house spouting off about it. I used them to ask personal questions about what I could expect in… insert time frame here. So, MEH hated them for whatever fucking reason. He never came right out and said that I was “cavorting with the devil” but he might as well have.

The first deck I had down in TX vanished. At first, I didn’t notice because I was having one of my “not now” phases with the cards. When I went looking, they were gone. I tore the house apart and asked MEH if he had made them disappear. He denied it, but I know he was lying. They didn’t just grow legs and walk away. So, I got a replacement deck. And that went missing, too. It took me the entire time we lived in TX to get him to stop his negative assault against all things new age, and Tarot in specific. The only reason he stopped was because when I got my first Oracle deck, I assured him of this: “If this deck goes missing like all the others, then I will make sure that your special edition, leather-bound edition of The Hobbit goes missing.” I still have that Oracle deck.

So. Now, I collect decks (but not ex-husbands). Most of the decks that I own are Egyptian related. It’s my passion: Egypt. Some of the other decks I have, I’m just hanging on to them until they let me know that they’re supposed to be elsewhere. I’ve always managed to give my old cards to someone who wanted to learn. Whatever they did with them, from there, was their own concern. I just tried to give them something that they could use at that moment in time.


I mostly use my divination now for personal insight. I need a lot of personal insight. I use it as a tool, just like I would a dictionary or a pen. In recent weeks, I’ve started to interpret my dreams, as well. Dreams are very important to understanding the self, as far as I’m concerned. Do I think that every dream is some deep message from my psyche? No. However, I do try diligently to remember my dreams, write them down in my dream diary. Then, I look up what I feel are key items from that dream in a dictionary. If I still feel that I need assistance in interpreting something, I then turn to my Tarot cards. It’s a lot easier than constantly going, “Huh. I wonder what that meant. That was weird.” And that brings me up to present day! (Yay! Back story is over!)

A few days ago (the fourteenth), I had a dream that involved MEH. This isn’t the first time that I have dreamed about him since our divorce. It is, however, the first time in a long time. The other things that bothered me about this dream were the generally warm, positive feelings that were associated with it. For years now, nothing that has had to do with MEH has been “warm” or “positive” in any context. In fact, I will vilely emasculate him (verbally) whenever he comes up in conversation. So. I was really… shaken and frightened by the fact that I had this happy-ish dream and he was in it. So, I turned to my cards.

In effect, the dream was telling me a multitude of things. I pulled the Death card. Now, every cheesy fucking horror movie would have you believe that you’re as good as dead when you pull that card. In reality, the card itself signifies a needed and necessary change. It’s the death of the old self to make way for the new; a cleansing of sorts. At this moment in time, I could damn well say that there’s been upheaval and a necessary change (for the better) is what I need most right now. However, instead of luring me into the direction of job hunting, I got…

“…review past difficulties with a clear eye to assure of a better future…”

“…be able to leave a destructive situation and-or behavior behind…”

“…fears and self-doubt are leading to a sense of insecurity which is thereby leading to self-doubt…”

It didn’t take a fucking genius to realize what the hell these cards were telling me. Hell, I had stumbled upon this answer myself before the dream and card reading. I had just written about it in my spiritual journal the day of the dream. I had pretty much come to the conclusion that I needed to use my fallow time (AKA joblessness) in a productive manner with myself. Yes, I want to spend time with my child, but I also need to really get working on fixing myself. I am a humongous fucking mess and I just can’t live this way anymore. Not to mention, it is VASTLY unfair to TH to ask him to live this way. (Unfair doesn’t even begin to describe it, in reality.) However, I didn’t know where to start: the beginning or the end?

As if to smash me in the head with a bottle, the holistic healing newsletter that I get shipped to my inbox decided to feature “forgiveness” and “letting go.” And then, the spread that I did yesterday (a spread asking what direction I need to go) was more of the same. I had to look to the past in order to make my future.

I have a lot of past hurts to work through, so it became fairly obvious that with MEH’s showing up in my dream, I was to start with my divorce.

In all honesty, that is so much easier said than done. The two of us have completely moved on, but I sure as hell never got any fucking closure. I don’t even know where to start with it. Should I begin with our entire relationship? No, probably not. It wasn’t really bad until we moved back up to MA in 2006. Should I add the hurts and pains his family leveled at me? Or, should I stick it to all of the pain he caused me? I don’t know. But, I will tell you something: Last night, I shot straight up out of bed as it dawned on me why I haven’t actually bothered to cover the tattoo that MEH chose for me (it’s a monarch butterfly). If I want something badly enough, I go and do it. Obviously, I’ve been waiting to release MEH’s emotional baggage. The covering up of that particular tattoo will be the finale, so to speak.

I don’t even know how the fuck to go about it.

No. I’m lying; I know. I have to use the medium that I am so very comfortable with: the art of writing. In order to mend the poorly healed scars that MEH caused, I have to tear them all anew and write about them. I have to write every last fucking detail. I have to shoot out the black poison that is festering inside of me because of him. I’m so not looking forward to all of this shit.

As if that wasn’t the hard part; that is still to come. I have to get all of everything off of my chest and into the open. I have to cut the cord that binds us, so to speak. And then, I have to forgive him. I have to forgive him for all of those little hurts and big pains that have left me a very different person than I was eight years ago. I wasn’t the best person eight years ago, but I wasn’t as coolly analytical or as much of a control freak as I am now. And of course, there were some positives in there. Since our divorce, I’ve managed to get a really good handle on my temper. I used to break and smash things when I was so pissed, but I learned to handle it better. Not in a healthy way (by swallowing it down), but I don’t break shit anymore! Oh, gods. Just thinking about all of the writing and the breaking open of old wounds… I’m exhausted just thinking about the whole debacle.

I have to forgive him.

I have to let go.

I have to move on.

I have to treat TH better than this.

I have to let go.

And honestly, I don’t think I understand what “letting go” is because I never have. Think of me as a hoarder, but instead of it being things in my home, it’s ghosts in my closet. I have swallowed up a lot of nasty, evil, vile experiences in my life. And I haven’t let go of a single one of them, yet. They’re still there. I guess I’ll get practice by working with the freshest pain first, you know? I guess it’s supposed to be easier to go with the newest stuff first. But, I’m so angry still with MEH for a thousand little reasons that I don’t know how I’m going to be able to “let go.”


I don’t know how I’m going to “let go.” Period. I mean, how the fuck do you do that?

It’s a concept beyond me, but one that I have to learn.

And soon.

This what I have to do. Hopefully, I can follow the example.

The Between-Jobs Buzz: Wisdom Comes by Disillusionment.

At some point in the last week (I can’t recall time longer than a day anymore since my days, you know, blend together), I received a phone call from my unemployment claim adjustor. I guess this is fairly standard when it comes to a firing or lay off. Well. No. That’s not right. The Hubby (TH, from hence forth) is laid off whenever the jobs dry up and he’s never had to speak with someone to make sure that he gets unemployment. The only time he talks to them is when he has to reopen his claim. So, I guess it really only happens when a job fires you. So. I have to talk to this woman (her name is Jan) about why I was fired and rebut any statements the company makes… blah, blah, blah.

In the last week, I finally spoke with her for the first time. She had contacted the company that I worked for, but they hadn’t bothered to get back to her. So, she sought me out to get my side of the story. I informed her that I was fired for “fostering a bullying atmosphere in my store” and all of that. I was sure to tell her that I was an exemplary employee with only one write up in my file (for failure to get proper authorization for the use of OT, back in April or May). I also told her that I had never bullied a person in my life and that the employee who was a supposed bully wouldn’t harm a fly and was actually more likely to be bullied. I also told her the circumstances of my final day, my discussion with the BHOP’s Boss about how I wanted the reason I was being fired in writing (and was denied) and that I asked for a copy of my employee file and was dismissed, to be gotten around to “later.”

I called up Pregnant Employee right after that. On top of having told her everything I could possibly think of about my last week, my final day, and the events that, I felt, had led up to the firing, I had to give her lots of information about Pregnant Employee. After all, our claims are tied together, something that Jan herself admitted to me. I did tell Jan about how I had mediated a dispute between Pregnant Employee and ELD about being improper with making sure coverage for a shit she had showed up on time. ELD had given the coverage the wrong time to be there, even though she had worked that schedule every day since she had started at that store. There were other minor issues between ELD and Pregnant Employee that were talked over. ELD did grow kind of loud, while Pregnant Employee sat there and calmly articulated her every grievance. The session ended with “a clean slate.” They were starting over.

I believe they even shook hands on it, but I could be imagining shit. I, apparently, do that.

Anyway. I contacted Pregnant Employee and told her about my discussion. I also told her that our cases were tied together (so if I get denied, so does she and vice versa). I also told her that Jan was going to get ahold of her to hear her side of the story. I knew that her side would closely mirror my own because we’re telling the truth. I wondered what the Corporate office would have to say, but decided not to worry about it overmuch. As I’ve said, the company is not on the up-and-up so I was expecting some half-hearted stammering against both of our claims.

Well, for some reason, Jan never got a hold of Pregnant Employee. I don’t know what’s up with that, but whatever.

This morning, I got a phone call from Jan to get a rebuttal for Corporate’s rebuttal… which is…

First of all, BHOP told Jan that I was actually fired for “insubordination and bullying.” Apparently, the new story is that not only did I allow bullying to take place, but I had actually participated in said bullying. The insubordination was due to a “direct order” that I was not allowed to fire ELD. I was also not allowed to have given a mediation between two employees. Not only this, but I had also sent a condescending and inappropriate text firing ELD on the Wednesday before I was fired (the 17th). The text is supposed to have said something along the lines of, “So sorry, pretty little thing; you’re fired.” (I was flabbergasted at that one.) On top of all of this, during the mediation between ELD and Pregnant Employee, apparently Pregnant Employee was standing over ELD the entire time and just generally being very intimidating. I also took part in this intimidation. And apparently, at one point, Pregnant Employee and I barred the door from a sobbing ELD, refusing to let her leave an uncomfortable situation.

Say, what?

If she had told me all of this and let me collect myself, I think I would have gone catatonic with shock.

I, of course, told her my version of events, which closely mirror the truth:

1. I was never told that I could not fire ELD. I was told that since she had not showed up for her shift, it was called a no-call, no-show. However, before her hours could be posted, she had to not show up for her next shift… which was to occur on Friday AM. I had spoken to BHOP repeatedly, repeatedly, repeatedly about behavioral issues with ELD. She was doing her job, but she wasn’t up to snuff. She was doing the bare minimum to earn a paycheck and I didn’t want that in my store. However, I was told often by BHOP that our “hands were tied” until she failed to meet the minimum requirements set forth by the company.

2. It was against policy to have a mediation between ELD and Pregnant Employee. Apparently, there was a policy put into place about how all mediation should be done at the home office, by Corporate employees. This was news to me. Not only does it seem incredibly silly to have a Corporate employee try to mediate anything, but we are supposedly given “full autonomy to run the store” as we see fit. I saw fit to hold a chat session between these two upset employees. There has never once been a single policy anywhere about mediating any disputes nor about it having to take place at the home office.

3. The text is the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard of in my entire life. I sent no such thing to anyone. I would never refer to any of my employees at “little miss thing” or “pretty little thing.” That’s just not me and really borderline sexual harassment. I’d rather sexually harass a dog than one of my employees–it’s that distasteful to me. Any and all texts and phone calls that were made to ELD by me were inquiring after her whereabouts and her plans for covering her shift. After not hearing from her for NEARLY FIVE HOURS, I went in to cover her shift and sent her a text that I was assuming this was a no-call, no-show. Period. I apologized to her, twice, via this text about how things had turned out because she had been a pretty good employee (lie) and that I would miss working with her (lie).

4. Back to the mediation: Before I go further, apparently, BHOP told Jan that it took place on the 17th (the Wednesday ELD never came to work). I did tell Jan that it was impossible for that to happen since ELD never went to the store that day, thus why I assumed she had quit. BHOP has notoriously mixed up dates and employee names before and I wonder if this is part of that or just a spin doctor routine. Anyway.

5. At no point did either myself or Pregnant Employee refuse to allow ELD to leave the back room. At no point, did we ever stand above her and try to intimidate her. At no point, whatsoever, did she burst into tears. Pregnant Employee sat in one of the two chairs at my desk the entire time. She was fully calm and rational. She had been going over and over and over in her mind what she wanted to say so that she wouldn’t come off as some twit spluttering. I occupied the other chair in my office while ELD stood over us. I did feel that she was trying to loom over us in an effort intimidate us but as we were two self-possessed adults instead of children, it didn’t work. Her entire body posture was not receptive to any of this. It changed when Pregnant Employee told ELD that a customer had told her something quite damaging. Then, the mediation resolved itself.

5A. I know exactly what the customer told Pregnant Employee, but I have advised her that it would be like trying to get back at ELD if shared. Apparently, ELD had a really awesome habit: she got high at work! I don’t think she did it when she worked the daytime shifts with me, but she definitely did at night. A customer–a regular–saw this take place and told Pregnant Employee about it. I’m wondering if I should tell her to mention it the next time she talks to Jan… Maybe.

6. At no time, at all ever, did we block the door or did ELD burst into tears. There is, unfortunately, no evidence to support my claim. However, there isn’t any to support ELD’s, either. There were never any cameras in my store until the day I was fired. A strong indication that they’re trying to cover their ass.

I called up Pregnant Employee after getting off of the phone with Jan to tell her what had happened. She was upset by this, but also because she had been trying to get ahold of Jan for the last week. To no avail. I got off of the phone with her, recommending that she call her immediately. And wouldn’t you know it: Pregnant Employee got right through, without a hitch. Pregnant Employee’s story backed up mine 100%.

The thing is that the Corporate spin doctors came up with this little jewel: that not only was Pregnant Employee a behavioral issue, but I had spoken with BHOP about her repeatedly, that Pregnant Employee had been talked to repeatedly about her bullying behavior, and that she had even been called to Corporate to discuss her behavior.

Say, what now?

That’s a real trick and a half because Pregnant Employee has never, once, been called down to the office for anything except to pick up her final paycheck and her employee file. In fact, six to eight months ago, she was considered for management position. She was put into to managerial training program (that they so happened to not extend to me). That means that BHOP’s Boss had met her and approved her for that candidacy. So, she went from management material to a bully? When? How long was that fall going on and where the fuck was I when it was happening?

I’m really upset by all of this. I know that I shouldn’t be. I know what kind of company I worked for. They have spin doctors on their payroll. They do that all of the time to people filing for unemployment. I know of people who have forged write ups into employee files. I know of numerous employees who were fired for out-and-out lies: One of which was an employee that I worked with. He was fired for failing to ID someone in a party, which isn’t illegal. When the office was told that they couldn’t fire him for that because it isn’t illegal to not ID everyone in a party, they came up with some lame BS excuse. I think, actually, it was just failure to ID. They could produce no evidence. I mean. The company is dirty, dirty, dirty as they come. Health inspections that were passed when they shouldn’t have been (for gross negligence and failure to have sanitary conditions in a food prep area). I can’t tell you the countless times that someone from the Corporate office who were not on the line ORDERED an employee to make a tobacco or alcohol sale because the customer just so happened to complain. Hell. That happened to me on the Monday before I was fired. The. Day. Before. I. Was. Fired.


It should not upset me that they have come cockamamie story like this. I knew they were going to pull some idiotic rabbit out of their hat that turned out to be a sock puppet with no eyes. I knew that. Everyone I know who has ever fought with this company to get unemployment as prevailed. However, it still really fucking sucks that they would do this to me. That everyone at the Corporate level that I knew and was friendly with can ignore this, not stand up for me or with me. That everyone at the store level is too terrified of losing their jobs if they so much as fart without permission. This company runs on terror. I was one of those terrorized people, but I’m not anymore.

And I’m going to have to do something about.

I don’t know what… but something.

Dear Diary: It’s Too Bad You Can’t Choose Your Family.


That is my nephew.

I worry about him. A lot.

He is colicky. My son was not colicky. In actuality, my littlest of little men was a dream come true. He was a very good baby. I see that now, but at the time… Heh. Anyway, so, he is colicky and we’ve all come up with various reasons as to the nature of his colic. His parents seem to think that it’s an allergy of some sort and have placed him on soy formula. They also have to give him these drops when he eats because he doesn’t burp. I’ve fed him numerous times and the kid just does not want to burp. This is another theory for the colic: he isn’t gassy like he should be. I mean, there are a lot of reasons for why this child cries as much as he does, but I don’t think it has much to do with anything physical.

I think it’s… well.

That little man is rapidly approaching five months old… and he still has a very difficult time holding his head up. He should be vocalizing–he’s not unless he’s crying. He should be able to recognize his family members by sight and aside from his two parents, he doesn’t. He lives in the same house with his grandparents and doesn’t recognize them as adequately as he should. He should be smiling and laughing or at least starting to at this juncture in his life. He gives a straight open-mouthed smile that rapidly turns into open-mouth staring. He should be able to bear weight on his legs (both the Hubby and I are the only ones who make him stand for any length of time). He should be cooing when spoken to. Skylar doesn’t do any of these things. He should be rapidly progressing to rolling over in another month or two. He should be able to use his hands or at least know what they are. In fact, in the next four weeks, he should begin to play with both hands and feet or around that.

He’s not.

I know my son was a very quick child. He was rolling over fairly young and by six months, he was trying to crawl. By nine months, he was tentatively walking and by ten, he was doing a lot better. When we moved from Texas to MA, his walking was all right. However, before he was a year old, he was walking rather well and had started to learn a word or two. I mean. Yeah, I’m going to toot my kid’s horn. And no, maybe I shouldn’t be holding my child’s progress as an adequate time measure for his cousin.

But, I just know that something isn’t right.

I think I’ve been telling Skylar’s parents since he was a month old that something wasn’t right. His development is just off. I’m really, really worried about the fact that he cannot control his muscles, at all. He tenses up randomly, without seeming provocation. It’s like a muscle spasm, but it takes over his entire body, from neck on down. His head flops all the time. When I’m watching him, I am rapidly annoyed that I can’t just plunk him on my hip as all moms do. I still have to support his head. He’s a really adorable baby and I love him to death. But, I’m worried so much that they’re going to find out that something is wrong and it will be too late to start correcting the problem.

I don’t know what the problem could be, but…

Skylar is still in 0/3 month old clothing.

The problem… the whole thing is squarely on his parents’ shoulders.

They don’t care.

Or, rather, it’s not that. I’m sure that they do love their child in their own mystifying way. It’s merely that they think that they are still kids able to do as they please. In the case of HLB, he was in the middle of a heavy party phase when he found out the GF was pregnant with his child. He never really stopped partying. He’s less likely to now, but he still goes out and does idiotic stuff. In the case of HLB’s GF, I think she was emotionally stunted at an early age. And I think she’s pretty much stuck at an immature state of mind for various reasons. I’m sure there’s some deep psychological trauma–in fact I know there is–but that’s not the point.

They have a child now and they just don’t realize that their lives are over.

They ask everyone, all of the time, to watch their child. “We’ll only be gone an hour,” and then three hours later, they come strolling in. They’re constantly talking about going out partying. HLB’s GF, today, made mention that she was going to the Big E on Friday. I asked her if she was going to take Skylar. I already knew the answer to the question, of course, and wasn’t overwhelmingly surprised when she said, “No.” The reason as to why is because there would be too many people there. …Yeah, a large crowd does form at the Big E. However, my best friend is bringing her daughter, who is close in age to my nephew, to the Big E when they come up to visit this year. The real reason was because they don’t want to be bothered.

I can’t say how many times I’ve walked in to that house and they were ignoring their child. I’ve watched them just ignore him, period. I’ve watched them ignore him while he has cried for their attention. I have closed my eyes and tried desperately not to hear while he cried for their attention and they got only angrier and angrier with him. Whenever he cries, their first response is to shove a bottle in his mouth. It’s like they don’t realize that that is the only form of communication he has. So, a cry could mean so many different things. And it seems like a lot of it is that he just wants their attention.

I worry so much for how my nephew is going to be. I know it will be very difficult for him. I can only hope that his parents finally grow up at some point, but I don’t know if that’s even possible.

Dear Diary: Outsiders-R-Us.

I’ve never really been a big group person. I’ve always had more than just a hint of being antisocial. I’ve always been quiet and withdrawn. I’ve always been more interested in my books or my rich fantasy life than what was going on around me. I’ve just… really, I’ve always been antisocial. I don’t know if it was how I was raised, exactly.

My mom is part of a really big family. And my dad’s family was always bigger. I always just felt like a complete outsider, even though I was closer in temperament to my mother’s side of the family than my father’s. I mean, we’re all readers. We’re all into science fiction. We’re all inherently weird. I mean, if you get us all into a room together, the shit hits the fan pretty fast in the “odd” department. I’ve always been able to hold my own with them. We all practically were bottle fed sarcasm and it’s a bandied about so much that without a healthy dose of sarcasm, it’s a funeral. (And even at funerals, we’re all pretty sarcastic.) We’re… intelligent people and the defense of every smart person is sarcasm, since dumb people don’t get it. But, anyway. We’re all really cerebral. And boring.

But, I’ve never really felt like I fit in.

When I was a kid, it really didn’t bother me so much. I was a kid. I was busy playing games and making my little brother’s life miserable and being the good kid and reading and writing and fantasizing about important things. And, just generally being a kid.

And then, you know, my dad died and I started to feel… outside of everything. I know a lot of it has to do with the fact that he died of AIDS. And this was in 1990. So, I doubt anyone who is in my age bracket will remember or even be aware, but it was still a pretty hot button issue back then. Just because we, as in my family, knew that you couldn’t catch AIDS without coming into contact with bodily fluids that weren’t spit… that didn’t mean that anyone else that I knew was aware of that. I remember lying to my friends at elementary school about how he died because I was scared of the reaction they would have. And what was even worse that I was seven so none of this was like a logical thought process: I just knew that I had to lie. I just knew that I couldn’t tell anyone. So, I said that he died of cancer. And later when AIDS wasn’t such a big deal, I’d lie and say that he “lived” on Parker St… the road where his cemetery is. Anyway.

Those lies removed me from my elementary school friends, but so did the whole situation.

And it was worse with my dad’s family.

I never felt comfortable with them, period. I can distinctly remember trying to play with my cousins because we were all within like months of each other so, technically, we had similar interests. And I didn’t get the games they were playing. And I remember always following behind them because I wasn’t strong enough (just like in school) to go my own way and do my own thing. And I remember being inherently jealous of them, too, because even though not every one of them lived in a financially well off environment, they all had things that I didn’t. It was really made obvious after my dad died because, you know, he was dead but they all still had their dads. And they all still had each other and it was like we were less than family after he was dead then. It was like we existed, but peripherally. And that made the inability to fit in that much worse.

When I was… eleven? I can’t even remember how old I was when I found out, but when I was still fairly young and impressionable, I found out that my dad was not my real father. I found out in a really nasty and heinous way. It doesn’t matter right now, but I remember thinking: Oh. Well, that explains why we never really meshed. We’re not really related. And when things turn dark and that side of the family tries to help, I think darkly: YOU AREN’T MY FAMILY. GET AWAY FROM ME. YOU CAN’T HELP ME. But the really stupid thing is that if my dad was still around, I never would have found out that little tidbit and I’d still feel really fucking weird when surrounded by that family.

But, I can hope and dream that it couldn’t be that bad.


All of this comes about because yesterday, I actually went to a family picnic. It was odd because I never go. I always used work as a handy excuse as to why I couldn’t go, when in reality, it was just my inability to get comfy that made it that way. I still wasn’t comfortable and it was made moderately worse because the Hubby wasn’t there with me to hold my hand. Or to whom I could make snide comments to. It was odd and weird and I dealt with it by myself for hours. This is actually a really big step for me because, before, I never would have bothered.

Stick your head in the sand!

Hide from the reality!

Ignore what’s going on around you!

My mom lived a lot of her life and therefore, mine, like that. I guess I took it into myself a little to much. I hate that I’m like that, but… it is what it is.

I watched my son playing with all fo the kids. I watched him running around and laughing. He was like the center of the fucking show, really. He was in the middle of it. “Let’s do this! Let’s do that!” And the charisma on this kid is fantastic. EVERYONE wanted to get his attention and help him with something. EVERYONE just kept marveling at how sweet and cute and polite he is. And I’m just laughing because I hear this all of the time. Anyway. I was watching him and I was proud that he wasn’t awkward and uncertain like I was when I was a kid. And I’m so happy that he could git in.

I always said that he’d be the popular kid because both his father and I so desperately weren’t.

So far, it looks like I might be right.

Dear Diary: Where To Go From Here.

So. I lost my job. I think I’ve “dealt” with this pretty well. The day after, I just sat around and spent time with my kid while I absorbed the whole “not getting up” thing. After that, I started talking about it with people. Although, the one person who does matter, the Hubby, has yet to say a single word to me about it. I don’t know if he’s waiting for me to initiate or if he just doesn’t want to talk about what this means. Eh. He’s usually pretty good about not saying anything about anything until I freak the fuck out on him.

I really am not quite sure what I’m going to do. I’ve always been the head of the house. I’ve never, ever had anyone push me into the backseat. Part of this stems from my being a complete control freak. Part of this stems from how little opinion the Hubby has about anything. Part of this stems from my even bigger control freak ex-husband. (Oh, yeah. We were a pair.) Since I managed to climb out of the depression that moving back up here put me in, I’ve been in the driver’s seat all the way. A lot of times I bitch about it–to anyone who will listen–but this family has strong females and weak males. That’s just the way it is, irritating though it may be.

I’d like to speak with the Hubby about all of the options that I have ahead of me. Because, let’s face it, the world is my oyster, right? The only problem is that, well, I don’t really know what options I have, actually.

I’m pretty positive that I’d much rather not have to go into customer service again. I’m pretty sure that I’d rather not work for a money-hungry corporation that sucks out your soul through your butt. I’m pretty certain that I don’t want to work full-time. I’m almost one-hundred percent positive that I want to have a fun and carefree job. You know, like one where I smile and it’s not painted on. I’m almost definite that I don’t want to be the main source of income. And you know, I’m downright serious about getting certification for home-schooling just so that I don’t have to deal with the awful school systems in my area. And you know, then I won’t have to shell out thousands, no literally thousands, of dollars on the education I’d prefer Rowan to have.

(Side note: The education system is supremely outdated and I find it incredibly worrisome that it hasn’t caught up to the 21st century. As it was, ten years ago, I know that the Hubby was using the out-dated textbooks that I had as a child. You know, the ones where they say that Pluto is still a planet and that humanity has only been around for 10,000 years, at most. Yeah. Outdated. So, I’d prefer my kid to have a Waldorf education in some form or another. Not only is neat, neat, and neat, but it’s inventive and has only positive ratings. A definite plus in my book. Unfortunately, pricier even than a Catholic private school. Ugh. AND, even though the MIL has mentioned helping out, financially, with R’s education, she does not believe in this educational system even though IT IS SO COOL.)

So. I think these are things that I want, right? Of course, I’m not positive about it since every one of those definitely positive commentary had the word “pretty” in front of it. Thereby denoting that I’m not sure about anything at the moment. I think it’s the first time I can say that definitively (not being sure about the future) in a long time.

If I do have to go to work, though, what can I do? I don’t know. I think I want to have my pagan spirituality have something to do with it, but I don’t know how. I’m not even sure if that’s the niggling uncertainty in the back of my head. I just get it when I’m researching religious things, so… if it quacks and looks like a duck, eh? The thing is that pagan spirituality is still in its infancy, so aside from owning a neo-pagan shop (WHICH WOULD BE FUCKING AWESOME, though financially impossible) there doesn’t seem to be a lot that I could do with my spirituality in the job arena. I mean, I could write books about it, right? But, you know what? I don’t like that idea. (I know: a writer DOESN’T want to write books? What?)

So, since I could possibly go back to school, I was thinking that I could get a double major: history and THEOLOGY. HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT BE? I mean, obviously, I think it’s pretty fucking awesome since that sentence was bolded and in caps. I’ve noticed that I’ve become more… passive as opposed to aggressive towards the more established religions, aside from Mormons and JWs. So, I think I could actually get through religion classes without passing out from boredom or being thrown out for inciting a riot. I think. Maybe. Possibly.

But, I don’t even know if school is as real of a possibility as I’d like it to be. I mean. Cool, school. But, you know, degree in four years… I’ll be 32. That doesn’t appeal to me. I mean, yeah. Everyone goes back all of the time to get degrees and shit. I just feel like I should be more established by that age. And, you know, I can’t even be sure that my religion or anything like it would be discussed in any of these classes… Or, you know, where to go for this shit… Or… what I could use it for…


I feel like I’m on this precipice, right? And I’m looking down. And there’s stuff down there, but I don’t know what. And… I’m scared. I’m scared of what’s down there. I’m scared of what could happen. I’m terrified that I won’t be able to support my family or that the Hubby won’t support my decision. I’m worried that I’m going to be laughed at for suggesting any of this out loud. I’m terrified of all of this. I just… I don’t know what to do and I don’t know who to ask for advice.